Disintegration

large as ever, maybe even bigger. There were tens of thousands of bodies left to destroy, maybe more. For every one they’d hacked down, hundreds seemed to have taken its place.
    “Going to take a little while, isn’t it?” he said, deliberately understating the scale of the problem.
    “Going to take forever,” Gordon agreed, leaning his head against the glass.
    “Is it worth the effort?” Hollis asked. No one answered.
    “I busted my balls yesterday,” Jas complained, “and risked my neck. And for what? Wasn’t worth shit.”
    “Of course it was,” Webb shouted across the room as he waited for his food. “Look how many of them we got rid of.”
    “Yeah, but look how many are left.”
    “Thousands,” Gordon said quietly. “Millions, even.”
    “Less than yesterday, though,” Webb continued, grabbing a plate and filling his mouth with breakfast. “And we ain’t got to get rid of the lot of them, just enough so we can push what’s left back some more.”
    “It’s not worth it,” Hollis announced. “Forget it, it’s not working. Don’t go back out there today.”
    “Has that bang on the head knocked you stupid?” Webb asked. “’Course we’re going back out.”
    “What else are we gonna do?” Stokes added, helping himself to food. “If we’re not out there killing them, all we’ll be doing is sitting in here watching them.”
    “Haven’t actually seen you take one of them out yet,” Jas sneered.
    “Piss off,” he spat, sending a spray of partially chewed food splattering over the kitchen worktop.
    “Watch what you’re doing,” Lorna protested, screwing up her face in disgust and wiping away his greasy spittle with a damp cloth.
    “At least I’m out there,” Stokes protested, picking up his plate and carrying it over to the window, still chewing. “There’s some folk here who’ve done nothing to help. At least I’m out there.”
    “Okay, okay…” Jas said.
    “Look at him,” Stokes ranted, pointing accusingly at Driver. “Lazy bastard sits and reads the same bloody newspaper all day, every day. We have to force him to do anything useful.”
    Driver glanced up from his paper but didn’t react.
    “You’ve made your point,” Jas sighed, “now shut up.”
    “And there’s Caron,” he continued, still eating and still ranting. “Can’t remember the last time she went out and did anything worthwhile. Spends all her time sitting with Anita, and she’s no good either. Christ, how much looking after does she need? Just another fucking excuse if you ask me.”
    “Well, maybe I’ll be able to do more to help now,” Caron said. The others turned as she walked into the room. She looked drained, her face ashen.
    “What do you mean?” Harte asked. Caron tried to answer but she couldn’t. She slumped into the nearest chair and held her head in her hands. “What do you mean?” he asked again, crouching down in front of her. “What’s happened?”
    Caron cleared her throat and wiped her eyes.
    “She’s dead. Anita’s dead.”
    “You’re joking,” Stokes said stupidly.
    “Like she’d joke about that, you fucking idiot,” Harte snapped angrily.
    Hollis turned back to look out of the window, trying to absorb what he’d heard. Even when the world was so full of death, this sudden loss was almost impossible to accept. He could hear the others talking, some crying, but he kept his emotions locked tight inside. He didn’t want them to see that he was completely fucking terrified at the prospect that whatever had killed Anita might still be hanging in the air he was breathing now. The next gulp of air I swallow , he thought, might be the one that kills me. He could see the reflections of the others behind him in the glass, and he sensed that they were all thinking exactly the same thing:
    I might already have it. We all might. And there’s fuck all any of us can do about it.

 
     
    18
     
    He had to get out. It was always hard being trapped inside with the others but it was worse than ever this morning. He understood why, of course, but that didn’t make it any easier. He just had to get out.
    Webb walked down the hill toward the fenced-off area where he’d previously fought with the dead for sport. He didn’t feel like fighting today. He had his baseball bat with him as always, but he now carried it for protection only. As dumb and insensitive as he frequently was, in his own way Webb had taken the news of Anita’s death as badly as anyone. He